Silence

Right after Andrew died I started saying that I felt like half of my own self was gone. We were so connected and the feelings brought about by his absence were beyond peculiar -- I definitely did not feel any sort of normal. Eight months on, I still feel strange most days -- as if I'm continually forgetting to do something important, but can't begin to remember what it is.  It's a very weird way to go through life.

People keep telling me how lucky we were to have shared such a deep and profound love. And I suppose that's true. It would surely be torturous to exist day after day in a loveless, or even tepid sort of relationship. Though our marriage went through the normal rocky periods, we were unfailingly smitten with each other, and so always managed to find our way through. I'm sorry to think that there are probably many people who never get to experience that deep connection with another person.  I'm sure I should be feeling incredible gratitude for the time that we had. But right now I'm not feeling so grateful. I'm feeling greedy. I'm greedy for more delicious years with my husband. I'm greedy for his humor, his humanity, and his kindness. Greedy for his great looks, his fearlessness, and his beautiful mind. But I'm mostly greedy for his conversation. Oh, the conversation! Seventeen years of the funniest, most intelligent, insane, and interesting conversations possible. This will come as no surprise to anyone who spent even a small amount of time with him.  Wherever he was was usually the most interesting place to be.

Andrew was intensely curious about the world -- he quizzed people endlessly about their lives, and their thoughts, and he especially loved to provoke their reactions! He read constantly and was incredibly well informed about subjects he found interesting. He could debate anyone and generally would. My sister-in-law once became uncomfortable, thinking we were fighting -- I had to say "No, this is just how we talk! We're animated, we debate, we argue." But the debates were never angry or hostile - they were full of passion and love and vigor, and life.  The part of our day I most enjoyed was evening, after work and dinner. The boys would finish their dinners and head off to play -- Andrew and I would stay at the table for as long as possible, finishing our wine and just talking about everything and nothing at all. Such bliss.

Our conversation -- constant, thrilling, hilarious, ridiculous, inspiring, and never, ever boring -- was our unique way of being in the world together. Now, I find that I go long stretches each day without ever speaking a word. The silence in the evenings after the boys are asleep can be be positively deafening. The conversation has disappeared with my husband -- I've lost half my own self, and don't think I'll ever be quite whole again.

Around our table -- the site of so much great conversation.